What You See Is What You Are
by rayychel infinity
Summary: "Patience," he says. "We'll get to that. Right now, what I want is you, on all fours, in front of that mirror." Well. Okay, for that Blaine could acquiesce.


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy.  
>Wow, so it's been awhile. I've been recovering from braving the 115 degree heat at Six Flags all day on Thursday to see Darren Criss, and it appeared that my muse had taken a trip to Florida without me to go visit my friend on her two-week vacation. Now that she's back, let the updating (hopefully) commence!<br>Warnings are: language, really tame dirty talk, barebacking but internal monologue of switching back to condoms in the future, consensual sex between minors, and of course me not knowing why the hell I'm writing anything this early.

**xxxxXxxxx**

Blaine sits at Kurt's computer chair, alternating between swinging back and forth mindlessly to watch Kurt read his magazines with a weird sort of fondness welling up inside his chest. It's weird because that's all Kurt is doing: he's reading a magazine, something millions of people do every day. It's not that he's being overtly sexual about it, either. He's not even doing the stupid finger licking thing that people sometimes do when they need to turn a page. Maybe it's just Kurt being Kurt. Blaine supposes that's as good a reason as any other.

He supposes, after mulling it over for a moment or two, that it is just Kurt, really, because in Blaine's eyes, Kurt is perfect. In Kurt's eyes, Blaine is perfect, and neither has ever said those exact words out loud but they can each tell by the gazes directed their way by the other or the things said either in the heat of the moment or just when the moment seems right. Blaine is seriously and painfully in love with Kurt, everything down from his eccentricities to his snarky comments about fashion and animal sweaters and football.

They've come a long way since March, and if he wants to be specific, since November. They've hung out almost every day of summer vacation, most of the time doing nothing but reading in the cool air conditioning or watching movies, blankets pulled tight around them, and they've become more honest and comfortable with each other in that time frame.

Since Blaine's spent a lot of time in Kurt's room—more specifically, his bed—and he's a pretty observant person, he notices when something is off or missing or new and something is definitely new and definitely throwing off the feng shui of the room. He looks around Kurt's room for a moment before he spies it.

"Since when did you get a full-length mirror?"

Kurt looks up from where he's sitting cross-legged on his bed and idly flipping through _Vogue_, his gaze following the stretch of Blaine's (well-shaped and very, very toned) arm to see what he's pointing at. He shrugs when his gaze lands on the mirror he'd forced Finn to help him install last week. Blaine can see the gears turning in Kurt's head and wonders if there's a _reason_ why Kurt has yet another mirror. This is Kurt and there's _always_ another reason and it's never the simple one.

"That? I got it last week. I really needed a bigger mirror. The one in the bathroom wasn't cutting it." Kurt goes for a surprisingly convincing nonchalance that Blaine does not buy in the least.

Blaine raises his eyebrows skeptically but doesn't say anything, just rests his forearms on his also-crossed legs and peers silently at Kurt, calculating him with narrowed eyes. He knows as well as Kurt knows that the mirror in the bathroom is the same size as this one and functions just the same. Kurt continues to feign interest in the magazine, eyes glued to the glossy pages, until he hears the computer chair creak, followed by the soft sound of socked footsteps, and then feels the dip of the bed as Blaine scoots next to him.

"You're such a terrible liar, Kurt Hummel," Blaine whispers, tugging the magazine out of Kurt's hands and placing it on the nightstand. Kurt shivers when Blaine's lips brush against his ear. His breath is hot and his voice is loud and so very _there_ when he speaks next. "What's this really about?"

Blaine strokes along Kurt's cheek, fingers trailing on the smooth, pale skin and lingering longer than necessary. Each fingertip feels like an individual fire. Says, "I know your mirror in your bathroom is just as good."

He points his tongue and trails it along the shell of Kurt's ear as the hand that's still on his cheek trails down, thumb rubbing at the column on his throat, catching over a prominent collarbone before the flat of Blaine's palm is rubbing at Kurt's nipple through his shirt.

With a loud, choked-off moan and a jerk forward into the touch Kurt grabs at Blaine's shoulders, turning his body to press his lips against Blaine's. He wastes no time with teasing nips and shallow kisses. Immediately one hand goes to tangle in Blaine's curls, pushing his head forward into the kiss and deepening it. Blaine seems just as eager when his tongue meets Kurt's and his hands slide up under Kurt's shirt to caress the soft skin covering his ribs.

"The real reason," Kurt breathes as he grips onto Blaine's hair harder and tugs, tipping his head backward so that he can mouth as Blaine's throat, "is that you need to see how hot you are when you're getting fucked."

Blaine moans, from a combination of the words and pleasure-pain, though the sound is strangled and slightly garbled from the pressure and angle of his head. When the rough hold on his hair is released he grips Kurt's face and kisses him desperately, swiping his tongue over Kurt's lips before pushing inside the warm, wet heat of his mouth.

They rarely kiss like this, so filthy and needy and with no barriers between them. Blaine's tongue traces along the roof of Kurt's mouth, tangles with his own and by now their lips are barely touching, both too desperate and eager to feel each other to bother with anything other than veritable tongue-fucking.

Somewhere in the middle of the kiss Blaine swings his legs over Kurt's lap and Kurt stretches his legs out and _oh god_ there's the hard pressure of Kurt's cock up against his balls and he fights the urge to grind down hard, capture Kurt's mouth and not move until he comes in his jeans like the teenager he likes to forget that he is.

Blaine's head is spinning and his cock is aching where it's still trapped inside his damn jeans, and Kurt is making these desperate little mewling noises that are absolutely killing him. "Is that the plan, then?" Blaine asks as he fists the hem of Kurt's shirt, ignoring the protests of what he was doing to the fabric. He yanks it upward until Kurt has no choice but to raise his arms and let Blaine slide his shirt up and off.

When it's discarded to the side Kurt fixes Blaine with a stare of intense stormy gray, lips red and wet. "That's the plan," he says as he strips Blaine of his shirt, running his hands through Blaine's surprisingly soft chest hair. "I mean… unless you don't want me to?" Kurt's fingers stop midway to Blaine's navel, pausing at the gentle swell of his abs, and Blaine forgets how to speak for a moment as Kurt arches an eyebrow like he's _actually_ contemplating stopping, the bastard.

"I—oh god, why _wouldn't_ I want that?" he gasps out and can Kurt _please_ continue moving now?

Kurt smiles and shrugs, saying, "Just asking," and then there are hands on his belt, unfastening it before moving to his zipper and button. Blaine loves how Kurt has this kind of control over him, that no matter how they start off, at the end Kurt's always got the upper hand. He also kind of hates it that Kurt can turn him into this obedient robot on a whim.

This explains how suddenly he's missing one pair of pants and he's flat on his back on the bed, staring at the beige-colored ceiling and heaving stuttering breaths, sorely missing the scorching feeling of Kurt's mouth marking any inch of his skin that he can reach.

His pants are crumpled in a heap on the floor, apparently, after he chances a look down the side of the bed, and Kurt's aren't yet and it's so unfair, he thinks with a whine and an unsuccessful grope toward the waistband of those stupid silk designer shorts that Kurt's wearing. All he's got on how is a pair of considerably tighter briefs and Kurt's got that hungry look in his eye that stokes the fire in the pit of Blaine's stomach.

"Why are your stupidly silky and expensive shorts still on?" Blaine asks, the lilt of a whine to his voice a she digs his head back into the pillows that isn't in the _your touch is so electric, oh my god_ kind of way. Kurt laughs and pets Blaine's hair like he's some sort of love-starved puppy and this is the most sympathy he's going to get.

"Patience," he says. "We'll get to that. Right now, what I want is you, on all fours, in front of that mirror."

Well. Okay, for that Blaine could acquiesce.

The mirror is positioned somewhat off to the side of Kurt's bed but still angled enough that from where he's kneeling he's got a full view of himself. He blushes slightly at the last part, trying not to notice in his reflection how his mouth is as kiss-swollen as Kurt's, his hair is an irreparable mess, and there's a red flush high on his cheekbones.

He also tries not to notice how absolutely _desperate_ he looks in this moment.

Kurt seems to read his mind because suddenly he's kneeling behind Blaine, one of his hands a loving weight on his hip. "You want this so badly," he says softly, fingers tracing abstract patterns that Blaine pushes into. "You want to see yourself when you come. When _I_ make you come."

"Jesus, Kurt," Blaine groans, dropping his head as his cock twitches inside those stupid briefs he still has on. Just hearing Kurt's voice drop that low, watching his lips form those deliciously filthy words that Blaine didn't even know someone as angelic as Kurt could produce, he's aching and _this close_ to begging.

"Look," Kurt says, voice slightly dark and with a sharp edge to it, and Blaine's gaze immediately is back on the mirror, back on his vulnerable form with his hands clenching into the maroon comforter as Kurt's fingers toy with the waistband of his briefs. He holds his breath, stomach twisting in anticipation of finally being touched, being _filled_.

Kurt slips Blaine's briefs down agonizingly slow, letting the elastic stretch over the swell of Blaine's ass, catch and drag on the sensitive head of Blaine's cock enough to make him gasp and his hips stutter and then the warm material is sliding down his thigh, stopping at his knees where it's a few seconds of semi-awkward shifting before Kurt can slide them off and deposit them somewhere on the floor.

"Look at you," Kurt says, a tone of reverence in his voice. "Look at how much you want this."

"I want _you_," Blaine says on an exhale, forgetting how to breathe for a moment when Kurt's fingers tease gently along the divide of his cheeks, thumbnail catching on his hole on the way down. "God, I want you so bad."

Kurt chuckles, the sound light and airy and so out of place with his fingers stroking the spot just behind Blaine's balls. "Nice Beatles reference," he says, tone conversational, like his boyfriend isn't on hands and knees, staring into a mirror and watching himself as he slowly falls apart.

Blaine moans, because he _is_ watching himself in the mirror and little by little he's crumbling. He fights back a surge of embarrassment but knows that he has to look, that Kurt _wants_ him to. His eyes flicker upwards, away from his reddening face, and he watches as Kurt bends down to kiss up the dip of his spine, tongue trailing behind and leaving a path that cools quickly and causes him to shiver.

While Kurt mouths at his shoulder he hears the distinct faint click of a cap being opened and there's some shuffling before Kurt straightening back up and scooting back slightly, and Blaine kind of wants to yell at him, to tell him that _hey_, he needs to be naked too because isn't that all part of the fun?

The words—even though they'd never be spoken, Blaine's a therapeutic kind of guy and thinking nasty things is his way of releasing anger—die on his lips as he feels the slick press of Kurt's finger at his hole, trailing around the muscle in feather light swirls before slowly pushing in. Blaine grips the comforter so hard his knuckles turn white, so hard that he almost expects the material to give way underneath his hands.

"Watch," Kurt says, a command, and Blaine's head snaps up from where it had fallen slack between his shoulders. Kurt works another finger in and Blaine hisses a little at the stretch before relaxing and allowing Kurt to spread and move his fingers.

"Feels so good," Blaine murmurs, watches himself as he forms the words and his brows draw tight together in concentration. There's the slight glint of sweat gathering along his hairline, errant curls sticking to his forehead and temple as he slowly begins to rock backward onto Kurt's hand.

"You look fantastic," Kurt says as he adds a third finger. "You always do. You show me how much you want it just with your _eyes_, Blaine. Just a simple glance and I know."

"Touch me," Blaine says desperately as Kurt's fingers crook slightly and grazes against his prostate. "Kurt, please." He wants to rut down against the mattress, relieve some of the aching pressure in his still-untouched cock, but there's the lingering promise of being fucked that prevents him from doing so.

Blaine watches Kurt shake his head in the mirror and the world may have ended for all he cares. "Not yet," is Kurt's reply as he withdraws his fingers. Blaine huffs in frustration, annoyed to the point where he doesn't even watch Kurt strip his shorts and briefs, only coming back to the unfair real world when Kurt's cock brushes the inside of his thigh and he belatedly realizes _oh, hey, now we're both naked_.

The click of the cap again and the unmistakable sound of slicked skin-on-skin mixed with Kurt's tiny grunts as he slicks himself up. They'd long since disposed of condoms—it wasn't entirely safe, Blaine knew, but being each other's firsts made them a bit lax, and maybe someday down the road they'd change, but for this summer, their penultimate summer as stupid, silly teenagers in love, Blaine revels in the feel of every ridge of Kurt's cock deep inside, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

The slick, blunt head of Kurt's cock nudges at his hole and Blaine doesn't stop himself from pushing back and catching his reflection in the mirror through his half-opened eyes. Kurt uses his free hand to still Blaine's hips, saying, "Not until you _watch_ yourself, Blaine."

Blaine obediently locks his gaze on his disheveled appearance, shocked at how much more wrecked and wanton he's gotten since he last fully looked. Something surges deep in his chest, a little flare of arousal and anticipation, and before he realizes it Kurt is pushing in slowly, pausing every so often until he's in to the hilt.

Blaine sucks in a breath, holds it as he catches Kurt's gaze in the mirror, navy blue locked on hazel and Kurt gripping so hard into his hips that his skin indents down and he feels the dig of what'll be crescent-shaped marks.

Kurt pulls back until he's almost out, then slides back in with one swift push, and Blaine, not expecting it, nearly falls forward, Kurt's anchor-like grip the only thing keeping him from toppling face-first onto the bed,

"You're gorgeous," Kurt pants. "So gorgeous and you act like you don't even know it. Looking at yourself now, how open you are, you can't say otherwise." He adjusts the angle of his hips and thrusts until he's hitting Blaine's prostate every few strokes.

Blaine groans, deep and low in his throat. He watches as his body moves with Kurt's, as they sway together and he moans and arches whenever Kurt's cock brushes his prostate. He watches as he widens his legs slightly to allow Kurt more room, watches how his mouth never really closes all the way and how his eyes, pupils blown, speak volumes about the intense desire and arousal coursing through his system right now.

He watches as he supports his weight on one arm and reaches his other underneath to grasp his cock, sighing when his fingers close around the shaft. This is intimate on a level Blaine never thought he'd experience, and that thought alone, mixing in with the usual sounds of sex, pushes him even closer to the edge.

"Kurt," he gasps, thumbing over the head of his cock. "I—I'm gonna—"

"Come," Kurt says, voice strained and thrusts becoming less measured and more erratic.

He watches as he strokes once twice, watches as his body tightens like a spring-loaded trap before unraveling, a loud, long moan spilling from his lips as he spills onto his hand, Kurt following not long after.

They collapse at the head of the bed, far away from the wet spot that Kurt's already complaining about and that Blaine feels slightly guilty about causing without even thinking about a towel or something to place there before this all happened.

Blaine's letting his breathing even out before he tries to initiate any sort of conversation, and somewhere in the lapse of five minutes Kurt suddenly sits up and says, "That wasn't a bad idea, was it?"

Blaine looks at him, slightly confused. "Clearly it wasn't," he says, gesturing down at the foot of the bed with a little titter. He bites his lip. "I sort of… Okay, I won't lie. You got me. I loved it."

Kurt's face breaks into a sunny smile, one that Blaine feels he doesn't get to see very often, and he leans down to press a simple kiss to Blaine's lips. "You get so down on yourself sometimes," Kurt says. Blaine realizes that he's explaining why exactly he'd had a mirror installed just so he could have sex in front of it. "You always think you have to be perfect and you think that you never are, but you _are_, Blaine. You're gorgeous, so gorgeous that I'm beside myself sometimes."

He's touched, he really is. "You didn't have to go to the trouble of installing a, you know, mirror."

Kurt shrugs and lazily cards his fingers through Blaine's sweat-dampened curls. "You know me: all flashy contraptions and elaborate schemes to show my true feelings."

Blaine makes a contented noise that he hopes doubles as one of amused acknowledgement. "I'd have you no other way."


End file.
